Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
It started me wondering if he played games in bed, those stupid role play things you read about in some magazines that makes you blush if you’re with company.
I’d lived off of that fantasy for a while. Imagining myself tied up somewhere for his pleasure while he used my body any way he wanted while I called him sir and begged him to fuck me.
It’s sad when your fantasy life is richer, fuller, better, than the real one. But it was only in my head that such a thing could ever happen. That he’d one day look at me with want.
It’s not that I’m ugly, far from it. With my dark auburn hair with red and gold natural highlights running through it, hair that falls down the middle of my back to just barely graze the top of my ass, and piercing green eyes that I’ve been told are very hypnotic.
All this on top of my killer ex-cheerleader body, I know I’m a knockout. I’ve certainly heard it enough. But for some reason I was born in the body of a sexpot and given the backbone of a slug and the sexual aptitude of a vestal virgin.
I’m known as the goody two shoes in my circle believe it or not, when most, including them, say I’m the hottest one of the bunch hands down.
I do get the most compliments and guys are always drooling over me and my tits wherever I go. But they never hang around too long after they get to know me. Which usually takes about a few seconds.
I’m the kind of female people make up their minds about just from taking one look at my body. Or the pouty lip smiling face I always seem to have. But a few minutes in my company and they’re running for the hills.
Some of the more enterprising ones may see my shyness as easy prey, but my intelligence soon dispels them of that notion. Besides, I’ve never been interested.
From the age of sixteen I’d given my heart to one man. He didn’t know it, and it was hella wrong at the time, but there you have it.
I’d never done anything to alert him to the fact that he could have me any which way he wanted. In fact I usually get tongue tied whenever I’m around him.
So although I’d love nothing better than to have him. The fact that he was first married and now way out of my league, assures me that it’s not gonna happen.
Of course that changes from day to day. Some days I wake up and tell myself that today is the day I’m going to let him know how I feel. That usually happens after I believe I’d caught him checking me out the day before.
Then there are the days when I have every doubt in the world plaguing me. Those days when I’m roaming around his house seeing the images of his life from high school to the Pros.
He’s enigmatic, and somehow in my eyes, bigger than life. And I’m just a small town girl with mediocre dreams. And then I compare myself to his ex-wife and know that we’re not even in the same hemisphere.
She’s blonde, trim, statuesque. All the things you’d expect the wife of someone like him to be. While me, I had to drop out of cheerleading because my breasts decided to go from a B-cup to a DD in one summer.
My legs though long, only hold up a five foot four body, while he had to be six-two to her five-ten. So you see, always beneath my lustful dreams was the knowledge that it would never be.
Lately though I’ve come to believe more and more that he just might be interested. His eyes follow me more than usual and sometimes out the side of my eye I catch him studying me as if I were an enigma.
Almost like he’s seeing something that was in front of his eyes the whole time, for the first time. If he’d ogle my overly large breasts like the immature goons at school do on a regular basis, then I’d know for sure. But he’s too sophisticated for that I suppose.
I’ve even played around with the idea of wearing something totally inappropriate to catch his attention, but with the uproar over the divorce pretty much still in high gear, I don’t want to give him the wrong impression.
Today had been one of my bolder days. Last night when I’d put the kids to bed and turned to leave, I’d caught him watching me from the doorway of his daughter’s room.
I hadn’t even known he was there, hadn’t heard him come up the stairs and down the hallway. He hadn’t looked away or pretended that he hadn’t been staring. Instead he’d looked into my eyes boldly, fiercely. Until I thought I would pass out from excitement.